


voidfish

by krystian



Category: Darker Than Black
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Canon Compliant, Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Introspection, Please I just want them to be happy, Sad Ending, Vignette, other minor characters appear for 0.2 seconds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krystian/pseuds/krystian
Summary: July had always just been a Doll to him, another asset he could use.November doesn't like admitting it, but maybe he had been wrong.
Relationships: November 11 & July
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4
Collections: Quote Prompt Memes





	voidfish

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [quoteonlyprompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/quoteonlyprompts) collection. 



> **Prompt:** "Please, don't close the door behind you."
> 
> so yeah. i'm back with another nearly dead fandom.  
> title is directly taken from this cute song [here](https://youtu.be/FeFGfulFWPY)! go check it out. now. 
> 
> also, y'know, i think that if i was a contractor, my payment would just be having to eat whatever's in my fridge. because i only buy stuff i'm allergic to. i swear i'm a functioning adult. 
> 
> in any case, thanks for the prompt. I-

The first time he lays his eyes on the boy, they’re in London.

No, not the boy – the Doll. It’s unlike him to slip up like that; he blames it on the sleep deprivation. In any case, the Doll’s eyes are far too empty to be perceived as anything even close to human. November doesn’t think his eyes are much different; not that it matters.

It’s not particularly often that he finds himself in the grand halls of Vauxhall Cross, but it does happen from time to time. Whenever he’s assigned a new job, to be specific. The higher-ups don’t necessarily appreciate being near Contractors, but that doesn’t stop them from cooperating with them, either.

In any case, he’s in London, retrieving the new Doll. Not a state-of-the-art prototype, but also nothing to scoff at. He half-listens to the lecture about being careful with the new specimen, noting that it seems to be working with glass.

The Doll doesn’t look at him. It appears to be very young.

“July,” the official says, and November looks up from the Doll to fixate the man with his gaze. He squirms under his gaze. They all do. “Its name is July.”

He nods to show that he heard the man, eyes straying down to the Doll again. Someone has already dressed it accordingly, although the style does remind November of the paperboys that sometimes appear in old movies. Its hair is unkempt, sticking up at odd angles, and a dirty shade of blond. It can’t be much older than eight.

November raises an eyebrow at the official.

“It’s already been tested,” the man presses out between tight lips, eyes moving around wildly to avoid November’s direct gaze. “It works well, don’t worry. No malfunctions or anything. Despite its apparent young age, it can find almost anything- or anyone. I’m sure it’ll be a great asset.” He smiles a timid smile that November doesn’t reciprocate. “Don’t be afraid to use it however you want. It’s just a puppet. It has no heart and no soul.”

He merely nods at the man, already moving towards the door, pushing it open with the flat of his hand. November inclines his head, sharp eyes on the Doll. “Come on,” he says to it. The Doll listens without any objections; because of course it does.

Not sparing the official a second glance, he leaves the room with the Doll in tow. He can hear its quiet steps behind him, the way it drags its feet over the ground. It’s just another job, nothing out of the ordinary.

The Doll is silent behind him.

Not that he minds, of course.

* * *

After the attack on April’s life, November visits the hospital.

Decade and the Doll are already there; the older man leaning against a wall while the Doll is sitting unnaturally still on a bench to the left. Its eyes are empty as it stares at the ground, small hands resting on its legs.

It slowly looks up as he approaches them.

“How is she?” November asks, because it seems like an appropriate question, and April has been a reliable teammate until now. And he needs to know as much as he can about the other Contractor’s powers.

Decade answers him but quickly changes the topic. It’s always about February, never about them. They’re just assets. Not that November minds, of course.

He listens to the voicemail Decade plays for him, April’s voice resounding in the almost empty hallway as he watches her through the glass door. She’s just lying there, completely unresponsive and covered with white bandages, a stark contrast against her dark skin.

They decide to relocate the briefing to the rooftop; the Doll follows them silently. It doesn’t look sad at the prospect of leaving April behind. Not that November had expected it to.

The sun hasn’t risen yet, but the cool air of the fading night is nothing more than a slight inconvenience for him. For a split second, he wonders if Dolls can get cold, but the thought is gone with the wind when Decade starts talking again.

He looks out at the Hell’s Gate as Decade keeps asking questions that he can’t answer at the moment. The Doll is sitting somewhere behind them, listening without actually hearing anything.

November can almost ignore its presence when Decade leaves.

* * *

The boy is sitting next to him in the car.

November doesn’t often drive with children anymore _(he used to, back when he was still human; having younger siblings just is like that)_ , but even he knows that the boy is not acting like a regular child. A normal boy would fidget, constantly turn around or ask questions.

The boy is just sitting there, his eyes staring right through the windshield as November finishes his call with Decade.

He’s completely still when they face off against BK-201, even as November loses his temper and raises his voice. His fingers curl around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. His siblings would have flinched; they always did when he raised his voice. They never liked when he got too serious.

But July doesn’t complain and doesn’t whine when BK’s daggers start crackling with electricity and when November revs the engine, and he’s completely still as November manoeuvres the car out of the parking garage, swerving like the devil is behind them.

November recounts everything out loud; it doesn’t matter that the boy doesn’t answer.

Stepping on the gas, November manages to get them through the worst of Tokyo’s traffic, veering into a street to his right. Dark smoke curls upwards in the sky like a bad omen. He doesn’t believe in omens.

He almost brakes too late as another explosive goes off right in front of them, swerving the car around so his side is facing the blast. Glass splinters, cutting into his skin as he protectively bends over the unresponsive boy; it’s on instinct. The Doll was expensive, and the higher-ups certainly don’t want to see him wasting any resources.

When he’s sure that the worst is over, November lets go of him to turn around.

A small boy, not much older than the boy next to him, is standing right where the explosives have gone off. He matches April’s description.

He knows he has to give chase.

Before he does, though, November quickly jots down a name and hands the slip of paper over to the boy.

The Doll doesn’t even look at him as he takes the note into his small hands, so November only heaves a sigh, resting his own hand on top of the boy’s head for a split second. Leaving an important asset like him alone is a risky move.

He doesn’t turn around when he leaves the car. He doesn’t lock it. The boy will know what to do. And he’ll know how to find him.

* * *

The boy, the other Contractor, reminds him of July in a strange, deranged way.

They look nothing alike, they don’t act the same, nothing, nothing at all should remind him of July; but their voices, their voices are the same. Flat. Dead. There’s no intonation, no emotion behind what he says.

When Amagiri offers him to join, November considers it.

But he knows better; he always does. He knows that July will lead them right to him.

And that knowledge _(he doesn’t want to call it faith, because it really isn’t)_ pays off. Misaki rescues him in time with July’s help. July, whom she calls his friend.

It’s an unfamiliar word, _friend._ Not completely unfamiliar, of course. He’s had friends before, back when the world was a calmer one.

“My friend?” he asks. It feels strange to describe July that way. Not wrong, but simply strange. The word weighs heavy on his tongue, almost a little bitter.

He doesn’t have the chance to mull over it for long before Amagiri and the boy make an escape.

* * *

It’s not like it takes them long to catch up to the child Contractor either way.

November knows he’s hurt; he can feel every muscle in his body scream at him, and – judging by the sceptical look in Misaki’s eyes – she can see it, too. When he tells her to chase after the contractor, BK-201, she hesitates. Wastes crucial seconds.

But she needs to go, both of them know that; and after all, July is with him.

July doesn’t object when November rests his hand on his head. He just looks up at him from under the brim of his hat. His eyes seem a little less dead in the flickering, fading fire that the explosion left behind.

The other boy _(November never learnt his name; not that he actually cares about learning it either way)_ is mocking them, playing with them like a cat might play with a mouse. But he’s still just a child. And children often don’t act rational.

July is right behind him as he races up the staircase, grabs onto his tattered jacket as November reaches for the doorknob and pulls him back.

It might just have saved his life; the flames are white-hot on his skin, almost scorching, but he’s avoided most of it. His ears are still ringing, however, and he barely hears July’s voice over the noise.

“Don’t worry. We’re fine,” July says.

His voice still sounds dead, whereas the other boy sounds as if he fuming with rage. Consumed by it. November has never heard of a Contractor like this before; well, at least until BK showed up. But even if the other Contractor is more expressive, July’s words-

November simply smiles at him.

He doesn’t doubt July.

* * *

He feels it in his bones when the boy breathes out one last time.

April hands him a cigarette, July watches him.

He’s grateful for their presence, but he wants neither of them here, if he’s being honest. Especially not July.

But it’s not like July cares about the sweet fragrance of death that surrounds both Contractors and Dolls.

And it’s not like he cares, either.

When November breathes out a cloud of dark smoke, he angles his head away from April and July.

* * *

He’s still on medical leave due to the wounds he sustained, and so he wanders around the park nearby. It’s not aimlessly; nothing he ever does is without a purpose.

November’s never really been one for nature; sure, flowers are pretty to look at, but even they wilt with time.

The sun bears down on him, filtering through the leaves when he runs across July, standing in the shade of an old oak tree. November inclines his head, folding his hands behind his back; his arm barely hurts anymore. “What are you doing here?” he asks the boy.

July merely looks up, which is answer enough in November’s books. Then he looks down again, eyes lazily tracking the small circles of light that dance around on the ground.

“Do you know why it forms circles, July?” He doesn’t know why he even tries to make small talk with the Doll; it’s not like it’s actually going to answer. At least not meaningfully so. But the boy they’d encountered earlier, the one from EPR is still on his mind. The way he’d wanted to learn, even if it was just the most basic of things.

So even though July doesn’t answer, he keeps going. “It’s the pinhole theory.” 

July looks up again; his expression is flat, but it seems like November has his attention now.

“Since the spaces between the leaves are small like pinholes, they act as points of symmetry, and the shape is then reflected on the ground.” He smiles, ruffling the boy’s hair as he passes him. “Pretty interesting, isn’t it? Let’s get going, April is probably waiting for us.”

July complies, trailing behind him.

For the fraction of a second, he wonders what would have happened if July hadn’t become a Doll. If he would have lived a normal life. Probably not.

Does it really matter, though?

* * *

His plan, his own, secret little thing will come into operation tomorrow.

Everything’s been planned, everything’s been set up.

They’re in a hotel bedroom, just April, July and him. April is at the bar, browsing through the alcoholic beverages they have on display as November flips through a thick folder that’s sitting on his bed.

July is sitting on the bed next door, fully clothed and staring at the wall.

It’s silent in the room beside the clinking of glasses that comes from the bar now and then.

November sighs and gets up, moving over to July’s room and leaning against the doorway. “You need to rest,” he simply tells the boy, motioning towards the bed with his head.

July looks up at him with cold eyes that mirror his own. Then, he nods, crawling up onto the bed and laying down on his back. The blanket is neatly folded near his feet, so November crosses the room in two quick strides and drapes it over July’s small form. He almost drowns in the cloth.

He moves away to close the door that connects both rooms behind him when he hears July’s quiet voice, barely louder than a whisper.

"Please, don't close the door behind you."

He’s never heard a Doll speak of its own volition before, but November doesn’t question it; he’s seen stranger things happen here, near the Hell’s Gate.

Dutifully he leaves the door ajar, letting the warm light of his own room seep into July’s dark room.

It’s the least he can do.

* * *

He truly is sorry. Not because of Decade, but because of the trouble he’s going to cause for them.

Because it looks like – after all this time – he’s been nothing more than a pawn in the grand scheme of things, led to the slaughter like a lamb.

Maybe July hadn’t been the puppet; maybe it had been him all along.

The sky is a shade of purple as he stares up at it, dark smoke curling around the edge of his vision like a bad omen. November still doesn’t believe in omens. It’s a pitiful place to die, really. And a pitiful time to die as well.

He tosses the cigarette away; it’s not like he ever actually enjoyed fulfilling his obeisance. It was always a pain to get the stench of smoke out of his suits and the bitter taste out of his mouth.

At least April and Misaki will take good care of July. That much he is sure of.

**Author's Note:**

> \- managed to make it about death and suffering once again! you're welcome!


End file.
